Atobe vs Nanjirou
by Kiarene
Summary: Tezuka owes Atobe a favor. Takes place sometime after Kantou Finals.


**Title:** Atobe vs. Nanjirou

**Author** Kiarene  
**Pairings:** Nanjirou + Atobe (sort of)

**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** Tezuka owes Atobe a favor.

**Published:** 19th July 2005  
**Disclaimer**I would love to own Atobe-sama… and gang… but I don't.

**Atobe vs. Nanjirou**

"Where are we going, Atobe?" Makuhi whined.

It was the usual Saturday morning practice, but for some reason, Atobe told the regulars that they would be having a special training session somewhere else. Atobe refused to tell them where or what, but instead told them to get into his limousine. Even though it was a huge car, it had been a bit of a tight squeeze, especially when Kabaji got in, but they managed.

"Tezuka owes me a favor," Atobe announced.

The others remembered the practice matches they had with Seigaku before the Kantou finals. "Eh, it wasn't just you who was playing," Shishido grumbled. "And you didn't answer the question."

Atobe continued, ignoring Shishido. "We're going over to Echizen Ryoma's house."

"What, to play another match against Seigaku?" Makuhi squirmed, trying to find a comfortable position atop Oshitari's lap. The taller boy grinned blissfully.

"No, against his father. Echizen Nanjirou."

"Huh!"

---

Atobe got out of the limo, a pleased smirk on his face. Finally, he was going to see the secret of Echizen's Ryoma's success!

"Atobe."

"Tezuka. Thank you for arranging this opportunity."

The two captains greeted each other politely and shook hands.

"Ah." Tezuka nodded towards Ryoma's direction, where the bored looking boy was leaning against the doorway. "I didn't do anything. It was all due to Ryoma."

"Ch." Ryoma turned and walked away. "The tennis courts are this way."

"Did the other Seigaku regulars come?" Atobe asked.

Tezuka frowned slightly, a baffled look on his normally expressionless face. "No, for some strange reason, only Momoshiro turned up. At first they were excited about another match with Hyotei, but when I mentioned that Echizen's father would be there…"

"Oh? Is he such a hard taskmaster then?" Atobe asked curiously.

Tezuka shrugged. "I'm not sure. I'm the only one on the team that has not met Echizen's father since I had been away in Germany for so long."

"Ch." Ryoma pulled his cap lower, cheeks flushing suspiciously. The Hyotei regulars were at once intrigued and wary.

At the back of the Echizen's household was a spacious yard. Not at big as his, of course, Atobe noted. And only one court. How disappointing. Momoshiro was already there, talking to a tanned man in black, who must be Echizen's father.

"AhhHHH, Ryoma! So these are the players from your rival team?" The older man leapt forward excitedly. "Oooo…. They're a lot better looking than your teammates."

"Oy!" Momoshiro shouted.

The Hyotei team took a collective step back, startled. This…. was Echizen Ryoma's father?

"Pretty." Nanjirou leered at Mukuhi, who squeaked and grabbed Oshitari's arm.

"This one too, nice eyes, nice hair. Too bad it's cut short and hidden under that ugly cap." Shishido gasped as Najiroh suddenly appeared beside him and stepped back against Ohtori with a panicked look.

"You looked pretty too, but pity about the sour face. Smiile!" Nanjirou pinched Hiyoshi's cheeks, causing the second year boy to flush in embarrassment and anger.

Aside, Ryoma had buried his face in his hands in mortification. "Oyaji, could you be anymore embarrassing?" Tezuka was speechless and Momoshito was laughing his head off. The Hyotei team all had the same thought — this was an undefeated tennis pro? The great Samurai Nanjirou?

"Ooo, but you're by far the prettiest one! Num-bah one!" Nanjirou leered at Atobe over the top of his sunglasses. He rubbed his chin in a manner that made everyone else's hair stand.

"Of course!" Atobe recovered quickly, and tossed his head. "Ore-sama no bigi no yoina!"

"I am, oh I am!"

Atobe blinked in shock, and only fast reflexes honed from years of avoiding hordes of adoring and groping fans allowed him to deftly side-step Nanjirou's hands, which were hovering somewhere near his buttocks.

"Oh ho!" Nanjirou dipped his shades, eyes glinting. "A worthy challenge!"

Ryoma chortled, recognizing that his father loved nothing more than a challenge. He almost felt sorry for the Monkey King.

"I will allow you to admire ore-sama," Atobe sniffed, crossing his arms. "From a distance."

"But such luscious globes…" Nanjirou's fingers were twitching. Everyone's eyes were immediately drawn to said globes.

Atobe flushed in anger, wishing he had worn track pants instead of tennis shorts that day. "Oy old man, we're here to play tennis, not leer at ore-sama."

"You are here to play tennis?" Nanjirou feigned bafflement in a falsetto. "Against me?"

"Tezuka, are you sure…?" Atobe back-pedaled and hissed at the Seigaku captain.

Tezuka adjusted his glasses with a frown and hissed at his kouhai. "Echizen, are you sure…?"

Momoshir couldn't seem to stop laughing. Ryoma crossed his arms, muttering sullenly. "And Oyaji wonders why none of my teammates want to come back for further practice." He spoke up in a louder, irritated voice. "Oyaji, stop fooling around."

"Ano, no need to yell." Nanjirou shrugged, picking up his racket from the floor. "I'll play a game," he whirled, pointing his racket at Atobe. "Against the pretty boy here."

Atobe sneered, pulling out his own racket. "That's what I'm here for."

"How about a wager?" Nanjirou rested his racket casually on his shoulder, grinning. "If I win, you'll let me touch your butt."

"Oyaji…" Ryoma hissed in a low, mortified tone, pulling his cap further down.

"Fine, because ore-sama never loses." Atobe smirked arrogantly, flicking his hair. "And if I win?"

"Then I'll train you. Seriously." Nanjirou was already walking onto the court, an equally cocky smirk on his face. "But you won't win."

Atobe scowled.

"Ooo, what firm, bouncy cheeks."

Everyone face-vaulted.

Atobe's grip on his racket was so hard it creaked. "Bring it on."

---

"Would Atobe-bucho be all right? Echizen's father was a pro, after all."

"You worry too much Choutarou. What's the worst that can happen?"

"…."

"Atobe gets molested."

Muffled snickers.

"No big deal."

"Atobe can take care of himself. Ne, Kabaji?"

"Usu."

"….so, why are you here. Momoshiro, is it?"

"I'm not his type, apparently. Luckky!"

---

Unfortunately for Atobe, he lost.

"Six games to one. Game and match, Echizen." Tezuka called out.

Everyone clapped. It was an outstanding match.

Atobe glared hard across that net at the older man as he wiped his brow. Nanjirou swung his racket over his shoulder and strode up to the net. "Good game. You even managed to take one game — better than my brat over there."

"Hn." Ryoma crossed his arms. The Hyotei team watched in new awe at the older man and Momoshiro was grinning madly.

Nanjirou held his hand out and Atobe shook it reluctantly. Even the great ore-sama had to admit that Echizen Nanjirou was fully deserving of his reputation — on the courts. He hadn't played such a hard game, and so seriously, since his match with Tezuka.

"But—" Nanjirou winked. "Mada mada dane."

"Ch." Atobe gritted his teeth, eyes narrowed into slits. He tried to pull his hand back but the older man had an astonishingly firm grip.

"Now that you lost…"

Atobe hated that annoying falsetto. Tossing his head back, he challenged. "Well, you may touch ore-sama… if you can."

"A challenge, eh?" Nanjirou finally released Atobe's hand. Dropping his racket, he leapt over the net. Everyone snickered, eyes dancing.

Atobe stepped back quickly, yet gracefully. "Of course. Ore-sama is not easy."

"But you promised!" Nanjirou whined as he scampered after the elusive bishounen.

"Ah. But a challenge only makes the prize more worth it."

Everyone watched in awe as Atobe eluded the lecher's grasp. Again and again. Years of ballroom lessons and fangirl avoidance were paying off. The Hyotei captain was nimble and quick, smoothly swinging his hips — and buttocks — away from the other's grasping hands as he neatly side-stepped around the older man. Even with years of leaching experience under his belt, Nanjirou was no match for the younger boy.

"Ah!" Nanjirou wailed in dismay as he tripped.

Everyone clapped. It was an outstanding performance.

Atobe sauntered off the court, throwing a blinding smirk over his shoulder. "Mada mada dane." And he patted one cheek mockingly.

The End


End file.
